Hell Is Other People
by theUglySpirit
Summary: The Outsiders...and zombies.
1. Chapter 1

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders. Seth Grahame- Smith owns "…and Zombies" series. "Hell is Other People" is a song by Bettie Serveert.

I've been threatening to do this story for several years now. What the hell, it's summertime.

**Hell Is Other People: The Outsiders…and Zombies**

When I stepped out into the sunlight from the darkness of the movie house I had only two things on my mind: Curly Shepard and a ride home. I was wishing I had a ride home because we hardly drive anywhere these days and I kind of miss it.

They use the oil from the refineries to keep the fires lit on the parameter of the city all day and night. Gasoline for cars is almost nonexistent. We have a couple of five gallon cans in the basement that my brother, Soda, stole before the tanks at the DX went dry. I imagine Steve Randle has some squirreled away too. Between us, I doubt we even have enough to fill the tank on Darry's truck. Not that it would matter. Darry says the truck ain't for driving anymore. The noise attracts attention and we have to be sure that we have the seat cushions and tires to burn, if we still need to, when winter comes.

I was thinking about Curly Shepard because I hadn't seen him since school let out for good, but I was pretty sure I'd seen him just now. I had been running from a pack of Them when I heard a whistle: the signature whistle that our gang and the Shepards use to inquire who's there. It's the only proof we have that any of the Shepard outfit may have read Mark Twain. A shared whistle, like a code, is a practical thing to have, but I also find it comforting. I picture Tim or Curly or one of the Shepard jailbirds reading Tom Sawyer by a crackling fire, and it makes them seem more civilized. It makes me think back on a time when we were all a little more civilized.

We got to know real fast how civilized some people were when They started turning up. A lot of people blamed my family for starting it all in the first place. They blamed our parents.

My parents were killed almost eight months ago when their car stalled out on the railroad tracks east of town. The train that hit them was carrying all the usual stuff: corn, iron scraps, lumber. At first, we thought that we were the only victims of the tragedy, but then stories started to surface about the dogs.

It was all rumor at first: the accident had occurred just few blocks north of Buck Merrill's roadhouse, and a couple of regulars had come into the bar saying there was Army guys guarding the wreck. Dally had been in Buck's when it happened. He hadn't said anything about it to us at first out of respect for our parents. He didn't want to make a big sensationalized soap opera out of their death, he'd said.

He told us what the men in Buck's had said only after Soda had a strange run-in at the DX with a man who had spit at him and said it was because of the Curtis's that we were all going to wind up dead. The man didn't explain what he meant, but it rattled Sodapop enough that he brought it up that night, and that's when Dally told us what he'd heard.

The men he'd overheard in Buck's were railroad workers, and they said there was another car on the train, one that wasn't listed on the manifests and inventories. It's like it had just appeared and attached itself to the train in the night. They figured it must have something to do with the military, though, given the way the truckload of Army soldiers swooped down and inspected and then stood guard over it until the sheriff's office was done clearing away the rest of the wreckage.

"What was on the car?" Buck had asked, and Dally tried his best to lean in without drawing attention to himself.

"Dogs," one the men had said.

"Dogs?" Buck was incredulous. "Like four legs and floppy ears?"

"Yeah, dogs. Woof woof," the man said.

"Well, what kind of dogs?" Buck asked.

"Don't know exactly. We heard them say 'Dogs of War' a couple of times. At first, we didn't see nothing, and we figured that was just the name of some project. Some Army project called the Dogs of War," the second railroad worker said. "But then, we actually started seeing dogs."

"Live ones?"

At this point, Dally told us, the men became uncomfortable. The exchanged nervous looks with one another and squirmed a little on their bar stools.

Finally one of them said, "what would you say if I told you I wasn't sure?"

"Well, you said you saw dogs," Buck replied. "Were they moving? Did they bark?"

"Yeah, they moved, and they sure was mean, but they didn't bark. They just snarled. It's like they were rabid. Foaming at the mouth, their eyes all crazy."

"So, they were rabid dogs," Buck said, "but they were still alive?"

The first man shook his head. "That's the fucked up thing. They were more than alive. The soldiers couldn't kill 'em. I saw them shoot three or four that broke off and tried to run into the rail yard. They was hit, and they fell, but then they got up again."

At this point, Dally says, he quit trying to look cool. He turned straight towards the men and stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray before them. "I think it's time you cut these fools off, Buck," he had said.

The second man looked Dally straight in the eye. "I saw it, son, and I was stone-cold sober when I did. One of them dogs just got right up, shook it off, and turned on the soldier that shot him. Took a chunk out of that poor boy, too."

"Well, what happened to him?" Buck asked.

"Don't know," the man said. "That's when they spotted us. The ushered us out of there damned quick. Told us to take the rest of the day off and keep our goddamned mouths shut about what we saw."

So after that, rumors about rabid dogs spread like wild fire through Tulsa. The police took preventative measures and shot every dog they laid eyes on. Mine included. I hate to say it because I loved my mom and dad, but when the cops came for my cur dog, it was almost as bad as when they came to the house to tell us our parents were dead. I begged Darry to let me hide that dog, but he said we couldn't be raising Cain with the law like that. We needed to stay on the straight and narrow if we wanted to keep on the good side of our newly appointed social worker.

If only we'd known then that our social worker would soon cease to be a problem for us. She would disappear, along with much of the rest of town, and we would have much bigger problems to deal with. I still miss my dog. I miss mom and dad, too.

We piece it together bit by bit as the days go by: the dogs, the Army, the railroad car. How it happened doesn't seem near as important as what we do now that it has. There are a couple of things we know for sure:

- They meet the definition of zombies, like movie zombies, in that they're dead and they come back to life. They don't seem to feel pain and they don't care if you're in pain either.

- The first ones seem to have been infected by the dogs. That must have been one hell of a rabies virus they were carrying. It was transmitted by bites, but not all the zombies bite. Some do, and if they bite you, you'll become infected, die, and come back as one of them.

- The zombies that don't bite, just kill anything that crosses their path. They're strong; they can squeeze the life right out of you. They don't seem to have any desire to eat brains or flesh or anything, though. They just kill. We haven't figured out what makes one a "Biter" and one just a "thug". Those are Two-Bit's words for it. His terminology has caught on. That's what pretty much everyone calls them now: biters and thugs.

- They don't like to be inside, and they don't like metal. Cars were the safest hiding places, and the perfect weapons too, until the gas ran out. For the first month or so, that part of our lives barely changed. We just drove around all the time- cruising the Ribbon, running over the occasional group of zombies. We could sit in our cars and talk to one another and they wouldn't come close, but we never figured out why.

- When the gas ran out, we started using the metal for other things, though. At first, it nearly broke Soda and Steve's hearts to have to be dismantling cars for scrap like that, but then Darry got the idea of reinforce the fence around our yard with hoods off of cars, and Soda and Steve were on a mission. We have the coolest fence in town now, to hear them tell it. They can name the make and model making up every foot of our fence. They've left the hood ornaments in place for decoration, and they've even tried to stick to an eye-catching pattern with the colors. Darry thinks they're both off their nut, but I kind of like it. It's not decorating like Mom would decorate, but at least somebody's trying.

We still feel pretty safe going out during the day, but sometimes you just come upon a bunch of them and there's nothing you can do about. That's what had happened to me. I've always been a fast runner, and I guess I've gotten faster since we ran out of cigarettes and I had to stop smoking. Darry's okay with me scouting around the neighborhood and even in to the downtown areas sometimes to look for supplies because he knows I can outrun almost anything.

That afternoon I had gone off on my own. I told Darry I'd keep an eye out for knives and scissors- two of the things he's got on this supply list of his- but really what I wanted to do was go to visit an abandoned car on Graham Street where I'd found a puppy two days earlier. I bet I sound like a big baby, all broken up over the loss of my dog when there's so many worse things going on, but I feel like I betrayed him. He was a good dog, faithful to me to the end, and I let them take him away and put him down. Anyway, when I came upon that abandoned car and heard the whining, I almost felt obligated. If I couldn't save my dog, maybe there was something I could do for this one.

He was still a pup, I could tell by his feet. Great big feet, too big for his body. He looked to be some kind of mix, a shepard and a hound. He had one blue eye and one brown one. His coat looked like it might be the kind to get heavy when the cold weather came. He was huddled up behind the wheel of an abandoned Dodge Dart. When I bent down to get a closer look at him, he was tame enough to poke his head out and sniff me.

That was two days ago. I gave him the rest of the sandwich I'd been eating as I walked and promised to come back with more. Today, I was bringing him a can of soup. Darry'd kill me if he knew I was wasting soup on a dog, but I couldn't help it. I just missed my old dog so much.

When I reached the car and bent down, I saw him there hiding against the opposite wheel. He twacked his tail on the ground when he saw me and then crept a few steps closer when I showed him the soup. I didn't have any kind of bowl for him so I poured it out on the ground. He lapped it up, and I lay on my stomach next to that car watching him.

When he'd finished, I rubbed my fingers together and made a high-pitched kissing noise to call him to me. He took a step forward and then stopped. He cowered down and then backed into the shadows again. That's when I heard the footsteps. It was Them.

I got to my feet slowly and turned around. About six of them where coming towards me, only about 30 feet away. That was too close for me. I hoped to Heaven that puppy would stay put, and I took off. I would have been in good shape, too, except that a whole different pack of them came out of an alley near the end of the block, almost cutting me off. I veered around them, but now I was just running with no real direction in mind.

It was then that I heard the whistle. Two short notes and a long one, the signal that we picked up from the Shepard boys. It was coming from inside the doors to the Glenmark Theater. As fast as I could, I ran for the theater doors and burst inside. Birds rustled as I entered. I looked around for whoever had whistled. For a moment I was struck with terror: what if the zombies had learned to whistle and it was a trap? Looking around me, though, I saw no one. The ones that had followed me were milling around outside under the marquee- they don't like to come indoors. I backed away and hurried up the stairs into the balcony.

"Shepard?" I called out. "Curly, is that you, man?"

No answer. I waited and listened hard, but it got so it was too quiet. Every little scrape and scuttle- probably just birds and mice- made my heart jump into my throat. I waited until I couldn't take it anymore. Then I crept to the back of the theater and snuck out the fire exit.

I was never so happy to see anything as I was too see our homemade fence. I was so happy that I broke out into a run. I slowed up pretty quick, though, when I saw Darry waiting on the other side.

"Where have you been?" He said in a loud whisper. There must have been some of Them hanging around.

I pointed back towards the way I came and shrugged. That was a mistake- to act all nonchalant. Darry opened the gate and yanked me inside.

"You said you needed scissors," I protested.

"I need to know when you're going out- always. You know better than to sneak off on your lonesome like that. Or maybe you don't. Hell, you never think, Ponyboy."

"He must've been thinking about something." Sodapop said in a normal voice. He wassitting up on the porch roof keeping a lookout. "Look at how hard he's sweating."

I picked up a pebble from out of the yard and threw it at him. Just my luck- it hit Steve Randle, who was sitting up there with him.

Steve didn'tsay a word. He just glared at me.

"Scissors, huh?" Two-Bit came around the corner of the house, loudest of them all. "What do you need scissors for, Darry? Gonna give the kid a haircut?"

Two-Bit rumpled up my hair as he went past me towards the porch. He climbed on to the rail and raised his arms. Soda and Steve pulled him up.

"Anybody seen Dal and Johnny today?" He changed the subject, and I was glad for it.

Steve said "Johnny's home. He gave the signal about half an hour ago. He's probably in there taking a nap."

Johnny's parents got it early. His dad, on a drunk, thought he could fight a bunch of Them off when they came into the yard. He was wrong. His mom stood there and screamed at Them to stop until they turned on her too. From the way she carried on, you might have thought for a minute that she really loved Johnny's dad.

Nowadays, Johnny's house was the quietest place on the block, and he was loving every minute of it. No one threw him out of his own room any more. He didn't have to duck any punches just going from the front room to the kitchen. Sometimes, he told me, he just stayed in bed till noon because he could.

"Yeah, I bet that's what he's doing. I know what I'd be doing if I had a whole dark house to myself all day long."

Dallas Winston had arrived. He strutted past me grinning- no doubt at my ears turning crimson. He didn't say where he'd been or what he'd been up to, but he was twirling something shiny around on his index finger.

He handed the shiny object to Darry.

"Will ya look what I found?" It was a pair of scissors. "You might want to wash them off. They're a little bloody. I ran into Sylvia downtown. Finally took care of that little tramp once and for all."

"Christ, Dal. You killed Sylvia?" Soda was agast. I couldn't say that I was all that surprised.

"She was already gone," Dal told him. "I did her a favor. You know how she felt about her hair and shit. She'd die all over again, if she could've seen herself stumbling around town looking like that."

"You're a saint, Dallas," I mumbled.

Darry, holding the scissors at arm's length, toldhim, "Thanks, Dal."

"Yeah," Dally continued. "I found a whole mess of good shit in the drive-in by the high school. Y'all should come out there with me. There's knives, metal, some stuff in cans. I don't know if it's still good, but it's worth a better look. Ponyboy, what do you say?"

I looked at Darry. He was still mad, but he couldn'tresist the idea of scratching a few more precious items off of his list.

"Can you make it back by dark? It's only a couple more hours."

"That's cutting it close, but if we have the kid…" Dally, Johnny, and I would sometimes go out together. If we got caught by a pack of Them, we would split up in three directions and lose Them.

Darry relented with a shrug.

"I'll go out ahead," Dally said to me. "Go wake Johnny up. Let's go have us a time."


	2. Chapter 2

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

**Hell Is Other People**

Two-

Dally was waiting for Johnny and me on the corner of Pickett and Sutton, and since it was still early and the sun was still high, Dally had a four of Them backed up in the shadows against a building. He was taunting Them, tossing cigarette butts at them and standing just out of their reach.

That's one of the funny things about Them that we haven't yet figured out. They can get around in the day time, they're not like vampires, but they're slower and sometimes they seem to get stuck. It was the Shepards who noticed it first, being that they spend most of their time downtown where the tall buildings are. The zombies roam pretty freely around our neighborhood, but during the day sometimes a bunch of them will be wandering downtown and they'll just get stuck. They can still move and all, but it's like they're confused. They just mill around in an alley or up along the side of a building. They're aware of you if you walk by, and if you walk close enough for them to reach, they'll still grab at you. If you stay a couple of feet out from them, though, it's like they can't figure out what they're supposed to do with you. They just stand there and look and drool.

So, Dally had found of a group of them like this, standing in the alley between Emmett's Drug Store and Heidemann's Carpet Emporium. Johnny and I could hear him laughing, that bitter, sardonic laugh of his, as we approached. He was having as good a time as a guy like Dally can ever have. He was probably bordering on happy.

"Come on, fucker," we could hear him saying. "Come on out and get me…oh, what? What happened? Yeah, I'm right here…come on…you dumb reanimated son of a bitch."

"Dal, sky's getting dark," Johnny called to him.

Dally refused to give up just yet, but- I noticed- he didn't turn his back on Them when he answered Johnny either. "It ain't time yet. It's got to get good and dark. Shepard told me. They've been timin' them. Him and his guys hid out all around here, watching different groups of the ones that got stuck. They all got unstuck just before 7:30, when it was good and dark, and starting to get cool. We got about a half an hour."

He turned then, flicked a match off of the zipper of my sweatshirt and lit a cigarette. Then he held the still-lit match out to the nearest zombie, who swiped at it like a cat after a moth. Dally tossed the match at it and shrugged.

"Huh, they ain't afraid of fire," he mumbled. A post-apololyptic Tulsa overrun by zombies may just be the best thing to ever happen to Dallas Winston. For one thing, there's a seemingly never-ending supply of people to beat with sticks, bats, pipes, whatever and free reign to do it. The cops don't care. The ones that didn't give up have become zombies themselves in a lot of cases. You might think a guy like Dally, who once took such pleasure in derailing authority, would get bored fighting on the right side of civilization, but he hasn't yet. Instead, he's taken his love of taunting to an even higher, almost academic level. Dally knows more about the zombies than anyone- even Tim Shepard. Maybe that was why Darry was okay with me and Johnny hanging out with him on the street so near to dark.

"So what do you want to do?" I asked, eyeing the one closest to Dally. I couldn't take my eyes of her. She must have been pretty once, and well-bred. Maybe she was a Soc. Now, she was just dirty. They hardly ever go inside, we've noticed, so They tend to get pretty filthy. This one was wearing a plaid skirt and a clingy, soft little sweater. Her sweater was all smudged from the elements and from bumping into stuff. Her hair was matted. The drool coming from her mouth was caking on her chin, mixed with blood and dirt. There was nothing pretty about her now. It was her eyes that I was most interested in, though. The lids hung low, like she was barely awake. They look like that a lot during the day, especially when they're stuck. At night, though, watch out- those eyes fly wide open, just like they've been hit with an electrical jolt.

"Come on, Dal," I prodded him again, pulling my gaze away from the girl. "Let's go. What do you feel like doing?"

There was a time when Dallas Winston would have answered me, "Nothing legal, man," and I would have asked just to hear him say it. Nowadays, though, pretty much everything is legal because there's no one to catch you except Them, and they ain't interested in punishing or reforming you. They just want to choke you until your eyes pop out or bash your head against a wall. Some of Them bite, but not all of Them. If one bits you, though, you'll wish they had just done you in. If you get bit, you come back.

Dally smiles at us, and it puts me on my guard. I know that smile. It means it ain't going to be a gentile evening at the opera, and it means we probably ain't going to make it home before dark. "I don't know. I'm hungry. You guys hungry?"

Of course we are. We're teenage boys and we've been living out of cans and abandoned backyard gardens for eight months. I nod, still suspicious.

Johnny says, "yeah, man. I'm about ready to boil my shoes."

"That won't be necessary, Johnnycake," Dally says and cuffs him playfully upside the head. "Come on. Let's go have ourselves a real dinner. I know where."

I pause.

Dally rolls his eyes at me. "Come on, Pony. Ain't nothing to be afraid of. You got to keep your strength up if you're going to keep running for us, man."

Nothing to be afraid of…right. These days, everything is something to be afraid of. That cute little redhead I used to see at pep rallies is standing next to me ready to pounce on my jugular the second the sun drops out of sight. Still, I can't ignore the rumble in my stomach now that Dally has promised there will be food. I follow Johnny who is already following Dally as he swaggers towards the center of town into Shepard territory.

In desperate times like these, guys like Tim Shepard and his gang get elevated in status from dime-store hoods to something more like storybook pirates. It would be too simple to say that the bad guys became the good guys. Tim and his boys were never entirely bad to begin with, and they ain't exactly little angels now. It's just that everyone values a different set of skills now, and they're skills that guys like the Shepard gang and Dally, and- I suppose- my gang too always had. We're survivors. We know how to fix stuff because we've never had the money to buy anything new. We're inventive with materials and we're clever about getting by with next to nothing.

The difference, I guess, between guys like my gang and the Shepard gang is that our gang is more likely to share whatever we have. The Shepards are going to want to barter for whatever you got.

Funny thing…I guess not that funny, but it was the Socs who were hit the hardest when They started popping up. It was the structure of their neighborhoods, some of us figured: they didn't have the cheap chain-link fences, and there were lots of open spaces. More than that, though, the Socs just didn't know how to survive with an enemy they couldn't beat down or pay off. Darry says it was their sense of entitlement that took them down. They didn't believe anyone or anything could touch them until it was too late.

Once we all figured out the thing about Them not being able to hear or see us through metal, the Shepards moved their whole operation into a sheet metal warehouse by the river. I think most of them live there now. They come out with the sun, when it starts to get light enough and the zombies start moving more slowly. Tim sends them on missions- looting and breaking into the stores that weren't completely ravaged when the rest of the town first panicked.

The groceries and markets were pretty-well picked over by the time the Shepards took over the warehouse, so they had to settle for other sources of commodities: vending machines, root cellars and the canned goods from the abandoned houses. Dally says Tim has plans to break into the National Guard headquarters and take their surplus food. The National Guard armory is in River King territory though, and also hasn't been entirely vacated by the National Guard. Dally says Tim figures there ain't any more than 15 Guard soldiers left in there, but they have the kind of ammunition that the Kings and the Shepards are lacking. So far, no one has been able to breach the armory, but it remains a goal of Tim's.

The sun slips down behind the tallest of the former financial buildings just as the warehouse comes into view ahead of us. As soon as the light is gone, we can hear the shuffling start. They're coming unstuck, and they're coming after us.

"Goddamnit," Dally says, more irritated than alarmed. "I suppose…"

And without another word, we all break into a run. About a block away from the warehouse, something zings through the air from a building above. I hear Johnny suck in his breath hard and he falls to the ground.

I skid to a halt and run to him. He is conscious, but bleeding from a cut above his ear. He shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water, to regain his senses.

Dally shouts this time, "Goddamnit!" He looks up and around at the roof tops. "You sons of bitches! It's just me! It's me, and Johnny Cade, and Curtis!"

Footsteps clap against the pavement behind me. I look up to see three guys from the Shepard gang standing above us. They've jumped down from God-knows-where. The tallest one is rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepish.

"Aw, shit, we didn't know it was you. Sorry, Cade. That was me that pegged you." He looks down the street at the herd of Them heading in our direction. They're still a good block behind us, but they're waking up and gaining speed.

"Y'all make a run for it," one of Shepard's boys says. "We'll hold him off."

The first one says again, "Sorry, Johnny." He reaches down and picks up the rock he threw to hit Johnny. He squints at the crowd of Them and then hurls the rock. He clocks one right in the forehead.

"Nice," Johnny says with a grin. "Glad I that wasn't me."

The blow to the head only serves to slow the zombie down. Dally and I hoist Johnny to his feet. He's still dizzy. We all start to run for the warehouse again, Dally and I keeping Johnny between us. Behind us, the boys from the Shepard gang are lighting Molotov cocktails made out of beer bottles and hurling them at the zombies. Just as Dally had observed, the zombies don't recoil from fire. It doesn't scare them off, to their misfortune. Dally's lit match hadn't done any damage, but They'll walk right through a larger fire, and if they catch fire, they'll just keep walking until they burn.

I don't look back, but I can only guess that that's what is happening now. I can hear one of the boys behind us start to whistle, like he's herding cattle. One of the others cries out, "damn, look at that fucker go up! Awww, that's gross!"

We reach the warehouse and Dally has to take a few deep breathes before he can whistle the signal that will allow us to enter. I remember hearing that signal earlier today, and I almost expect to see Curly when the door slides open, but it's his brother, Tim, instead. No sign of Curly.

"Nice welcome committee, asshole," Dally says as he breezes by Tim.

Tim says nothing. He nods to Johnny and me, and I guess that he can't remember our names. He puts his weight into the door and slides it shut again.

Dally walks out into the middle of the warehouse space. The openness of it seems to make him nervous. I don't blame him. We're all a little nervous about open spaces these days, even the ones contained within walls of sheet metal. It's just the feeling of it.

"So, what's for dinner, Shepard?" Dally asks.

Tim walks passed Dally shaking his head. "Ask the butcher."

The butcher to whom Tim is referring is a guy whose last name actually is Butcher. His first name is Luke, but it sounds cooler to call him The Butcher. It might have been more appropriate to call him The Chef. We don't know where he learned to cook like he did, but if you kill it and bring it to him, he can make you a meal out of it.

"What's up, Luke?" Dally yells.

I find Luke in the crowd of Shepard gang members milling around a barrel fire at the other end of the warehouse. Luke has fashioned a rudimentary spit over the fire and it turning it slowing, his hands protected by oven mitts.

"Barbeque, fool," Luke shouts back.

"Barbequed _what_?" Dally asks. Even in the most desperate of times, Dally is picky. Johnny and I could hardly care, as long as it ain't one of those rabid dogs.

Luke jerks his head towards the spit and we move closer to take a look. The animal in question has been skinned and beheaded, but I can tell by it's shape that it's a possum. It's long, rat-like tail is the giveaway.

Dally makes a face.

"Well, why don't you just head on down to the Pines then, dick?" Luke tells him. We all know the Pines was looted until it was nothing but a wood frame, and then that wood frame was burned to the ground. Luke looks at Johnny and me. "You all don't look like you're too picky. Get on over here and eat, why don't you?"

Just as I'm stepping forward to claim my share of possum, I remember how nothing is every entirely free with the Shepard gang. Johnny seemed to have the same thought at the same time. We stop and look at one another.

"Curtis," Tim says to me, and I jump. "You and I need to have a little talk. There's something I got to ask you."

Dally intervenes, and it only serves to make me more nervous. "Unless you're going to ask if he wants fries with that possum, you'd better shut your trap, Shepard. You got no deals to make with him."

"Relax," Tim says to Dally, which only serves to make us all more nervous. "I just got a favor I need to ask him. He's welcome to say no."

When has anyone ever felt welcome saying "no" to Tim Shepard? It was a ploy to bring me here, and- despite his protests now- I'm not entirely sure that Dally isn't part of it. Dally had to have known that Tim wouldn't just randomly invite him over for barbequed possum and tell him to invite me along for the fun of it. Dally must have suspected something.

He seems genuinely annoyed with Tim now, though. "No. You ain't asking him for any favors. He's just a kid. You want something, you talk to his big brothers."

I'm increasingly uncertain. Dally has to know that by saying that, he's going to raise my dander, that I'm going to jump in and say I don't have to ask anybody's permission to do a favor for Tim. Is he acting a part? Are they both just reeling me in? Or is it just Tim who's up to something and Dally is acting trying to protect me? I haven't a clue.


	3. Chapter 3

SE Hinton owns the Outsiders, and she probably hates me.

**Hell Is Other People**

Three-

The Butcher served me up a helping of barbeque the size of my head. My mouth was watering. I couldn't help myself. I had a forkful in my mouth before I could stop and think what I was promising Tim in return. Same with Johnny- he was shoveling it in faster than I was.

Dally's voice snapped me back to reality.

"How's about you and me take a walk, Shepard?"

"What? Outside?" Tim asked. "Last time I looked, this neighborhood was a little sketchy after dark."

Dally pointed to a far corner of the warehouse.

"Just over here. Let these little guys eat."

I hated it when Dally called us "the little guys". For one thing, we were both taller than he was. For another, Dallas Winston's protection wasn't worth much when we were all locked in a building with the Shepard gang and surrounded by Them on the outside.

Johnny narrowed his eyes at Dally, but kept right on eating.

Tim and Dally sauntered off to the far corner of the building.

I asked to anyone who would answer, "So, anyone seen Curly lately?"

The Butcher grinned over his possum. "Sharp little bastard, ain't you? That's what all this is about. No one's seen him. Shepard's sure as shit that he ain't dead, though."

"Is he sure, or just obsessed?" Another one of the hoods asked from the shadows. There was doubt in his voice. "I don't wish the kid any ill, but Shepard Junior never was the brightest bulb. Wasn't real agile either. What are the odds?"

A couple of the other Shepard gang members muttered and shuffled their feet in agreement.

"Do _you_ know what he wants with me?" I asked The Butcher.

"Couldn't say. If I had to guess, though, I'd bank on it having to do with you being a nod faster and a tick brighter than Curly."

"Where'd Tim send Curly anyway?" I asked.

"Who says I sent him anywhere?"

They were back- Tim and Dally. Tim came into the light given off by the fire and stood before me with his arms crossed over his chest. I started to feel a little ill, and I wished to God I hadn't wolfed my possum so fast.

Instinctively, Johnny stepped up behind me to show that he had my back.

Tim cracked a cold, sarcastic grin.

"Take it easy, little man," he said to Johnny. "This is just a friendly dinner. You're going to help us out and we're going to keep you well-fed. In the end, if we both do our part, it will work to everyone's advantage."

"Yeah, you're such a saint, Shepard," Dally butted in. "Looking out for everybody's benefit, saving the world. Tell him what you're up to and let the kid decide."

Tim rolled his eyes, and said to me, "Curly's alive all right. He's on the outside of the city, past the barricade. He's been in the safe zone doing what Curly does best…"

"Drinking till he pukes and falling off of shit?" Someone asked.

"No. He's been stealing stuff, asshole. You're talking about my little brother. He's been stealing the stuff we need to lay those living dead bastards out there to waste so we can take back our town. I got a message from him. He's ready to come back, but he needs help. The landscape has changed and he's carrying a load now. He needs to be led back in."

"By me," I said.

Tim nodded. "You're the fastest thing we got, kid, and I know you get out and about during the day. I know you know where They are and where They ain't."

"He ain't going alone…"Johnny broke in.

"He ain't going nowhere," Dally said. "I already told Shepard 'no way'. It's too dangerous. Darry wouldn't let you, and since Darry ain't here, I'm telling you all 'no way in hell'."

I dared to look Tim in the eye. "I'll do it."

"Did I just speak?" Dally shouted at me. He stepped forward and cuffed me up the backside of my head. "Was I just standing over here moving my lips with no sound coming out or did you hear me? You heard me talking, right, Johnnycake?"

Johnny shrugged. He ducked his head- probably expecting to get popped on the skull himself- and said, "I heard you alright, and it sounds awful dangerous. I'll go with him."

"Holy Christ!" Dally said. He stamped his foot.

Tim smiled. That scared me as much as anything- the idea that I'd done something to make him smile.

"I knew we could count on you, kid," he said.

Dally kept right on protesting: "No, no one is counting on the kid. You want to send someone out there, send me. I'll drag goddamn Curly back in here by his ear. I'll stick a switch into anything that gets in my way. These two- they stay here."

"Doesn't sound like it's your call anymore, Winston," Tim said. He nodded back at Johnny and me. "Eat up, boys."

Tim had one hell of plan all right, and me leading Curly back into the city past the throng of Them was only the first part. The National Guard had put up barricades all around the city right after the train crashed and the dogs got loose. They were armed and they'd shoot down anything that came near that barricade be it living or not-quite-dead.

Somehow, though, Curly Shepard had managed to walk right on through. The Butcher interjected that it was because Curly occupied a middle ground section of humanity: he was totally brain-dead and yet also completely harmless.

Curly, according to Tim, was way the heck across town at a place where the Arkansas River cut through the barricade. The zombies didn't take to water. If we could've just flooded all of Tulsa County and lived on a giant lake, we'd be in good shape. The barricade didn't extend across the river. Curly had found a way around somehow without getting himself drowned in the process.

Johnny and I would have to take him back into the center of the city where the rest of the Shepard gang was hiding out. A couple of guys from Tim's gang would assemble a bomb big enough to level a good-sized section of a couple of city blocks- or rather, an open field.

"The drive-in," Tim explained. "The fence is still pretty intact. We lure them inside the fence, get ourselves out, and then waste them."

"How do we know if we got all of them?" Dally asked.

"We don't have to get every last one," Tim said. "We just have to get enough of them to make their numbers manageable. We can kill off the rest one by one. Or maybe, finally, the Guards will declare it a win-able battle and come in themselves."

Dally still didn't like it, he said. He had this theory of his own- that this wasn't win-able, that the Guards had no intention of ever coming in because it was all part of some giant experiment. The train crash, he said, was on purpose. We were being observed and our behavior patterns recorded.

"You're paranoid," Tim told him.

"When do we go?" I asked.

"Sun up, as quick as you can. You should be able to cross the city on foot in two days, quicker if you can find some kind of car. Find a safe place to hole up for the overnight, and then another two days back. It'll be better if you can find a car once you've got Curly. I have no idea how much shit he's carrying."

My heart sank down into my stomach.

"So, I can't go home first? I can't tell Darry where I am…or Soda?"

"I'm sure you can count on this mouthy fucker for that," Tim said, jerking his head towards Dally.

"Oh, hell, no," Dally said. "If you take off, kid…and I'm still sayin' 'if'…if you take off, I'm staying as far away from your brothers and all of East Saint Louis Street as I can. Your big brother is gonna level me."

"I'll send word," Tim offered.

I looked at Johnny. He shrugged.

"We'll need to get some rest then," I said.

"Of course. We usually just stretch out anywhere."

I nodded and began to walk away from the fire, towards the corner where Dally and Tim had first gone to "chat".

I heard footsteps behind me. I knew it was Johnny.

"Jesus, Ponyboy, you don't have to do this."

"You don't have to go with me. I have to go. You heard what he said. The Guards are never coming in otherwise."

Johnny looked down at the ground. "Dally's been saying that for months, but who says they'll come even if we make a dent in Their numbers? Maybe Dal's right- maybe it is just a big experiment, like we're in a fishbowl or something."

"You listen to Dally too much, Johnny."

"And you don't listen to Darry good enough, Ponyboy. Why not him? He's pretty fast himself, and he's way bigger than you."

"Shut up. Are you saying I ain't tuff?"

Johnny grinned. "I'm saying you ain't Darry is all."

We leaned back against the metal wall of the warehouse. On the other side, I could hear Them scratching. I wondered if they could smell us through the tin or if it was something else- the sound of our breathing and our voices- that drew them towards us.

"Gives me the creeps," Johnny said.

"Yeah, I've had a nasty case of the willies for a good eight months now. Be nice to be done with it once and for all, wouldn't it, Johnny?"

"I guess it would. What would you do if They were gone? What would be the first thing you'd do?"

Johnny's voice was getting sleepy. I could tell he was going to fall asleep just listening to me talk, so I went about it slowly, telling him what I'd do with all the details I could think of, until I heard his breathing grow slow and steady:

First thing? I'd take a walk. Just a walk because I wouldn't have to run anywhere. I'd walk down our sleep like I was king of it, and I'd whistle because I could make all the noise I wanted. I kick any can I came upon too. When I whistled, my dog would come, and- because I was dreaming- it was my old yellow cur dog. He'd come running and then we'd go for a walk all the way to the drive-in.

And everyone else would be walking too. We'd let ourselves in, and no one would have to pay, and someone would fire up the projector, and all of us- the whole town- would watch "Cool Hand Luke", and no one would have to worry about anything. Steve and Soda would come and drive us home in some car they'd souped up. Two-Bit would have a brand new girl on his arm, maybe one on each arm, and Dally…heck, Dally would be the only one in a bad mood because he was going to have to start towing the line again. No more bashing heads in or poking matches in Their faces. Dally'd be stomping around, kicking the dirt and cussing a blue streak, and we'd all just laugh…

I don't know if it was Johnny's shaking me or the light from the early morning sun that first began to pull me out of my dream. I was dazed and still smirking to myself over Dally. Johnny's voice began to break through:

"Ponyboy, wake up. Tim says we got to go. I can't find Dally anywhere, man. He lit out in the night."

"Which means he's probably revenant food by now." Tim sounded almost happy at the thought. "Come on, Curtis. You boys got a date with destiny."

I blinked hard and looked at Johnny. He got to his feet, dusted off his butt, and smoothed back his hair. He reached his hand out to me to pull me up.

"Might be the only dates we live to see, man," he said. "Might as well get a move on."


	4. Chapter 4

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

My apologies: if you read this before 8/29, there was a small chunk missing. It might not have made a lot of sense. I've corrected that now.

**Hell Is Other People**

Four-

It's not like walking across Tulsa is some kind of jungle terrain incredible journey in and of itself. It's about nine miles from downtown following the Arkansas to the bridge that goes- or used to go- to Jenks. The problem that Tim anticipated was that there was going to be no walking it in a straight line, and that- in the daylight- there was still the potential danger of attracting the attention of other gangs.

Once out of downtown, we were out of Shepard gang turf and into River King Territory. The River Kings has been mostly taken out by the National Guard for looting. Remembering the ones I'd known from before the train crash didn't exactly leave me hoping that any of them were left safe and sound.

Away from the River and the Kings territory would be the suburbs. The houses grew larger and further apart, and- these days- the inhabitants were few and far between. There was the Country Club, where the Socs had tried to hold out for a while. Farther south, the brand new Oral Roberts University where most of campus had been killed thinking they could just pray real hard and the scourge would go away. All I could think of now was that there might be a cafeteria on that campus.

I didn't want to set a single toe on the Country Club grounds. We'd all heard the stories, although no one I knew had ever been there even when everyone was living. Driving past the Country Club- when we still drove- was like a taunt: it was a lush and green place in the middle of a dusty city. Ladies still wore gloves. Men played golf, and the cars parked outside were like giant, glittering jewels.

All that glitter didn't help the Socs when They came. It was described on one of the last radio broadcasts as the first atrocity. There had been plenty of other atrocities- in our neighborhood, in the cowboy camp by the stockyards, in Greenwood and the Creek ghetto- but when They hit the Socs in their secret, sacred spot was when the media really took notice. They described it all in ugly, vivid detail, and we who had already seen it had no trouble putting pictures to the words.

The river was low this time of year. We opted to steer clear of the bank in case a pack of Them came along at dusk and trapped us with our backs against the water. There were paths along the river, some of them paved walkways made by the city, and some just little goat trails made my bums and teenagers with six packs looking for quiet places to hide. We walked for quite some time on the pavement, hardly saying and keeping our ears peeled for sounds of other people.

We'd made it almost a mile before our caution delivered.

"It's a school day, ain't it? What are you boys doing out and about?"

He was sitting on a shell of a Pontiac, picking at his nails with a blade, and he was grinning- probably because he knew as well as we did that there wasn't any school these days.

"It's a nice day," Johnny said, stammering a little. "We thought we'd take a hike like in the old days."

"Did you make a habit of taking hikes on my turf in the old days?"

He stood up. He was clearly a River King. They all looked sleazy, and this guy was no exception. I'd seen him before. I'd witnessed firsthand his quickness with that blade.

When neither of us answered him, he took a step towards us.

"Shepard send you down here?"

I shook my head. "We ain't with Shepard. I'm Ponyboy Curtis. We live up east farther."

"Yeah," the River King said, nodding. "Bunch of hillbillies and rodeo clowns up there is what I heard."

"Still whipped the Shepard gang last time we rumbled," Johnny said.

"This is true. Probably not the two of you by yourselves, though. You most likely had some back-up then. Where's your back-up?"

"We ain't got any. Like I said, we're just out walking."

The River King wiped his switchblade on his jeans and held it lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

"That, boys," he said, "sounds like a bullshit story if ever I heard one. Still, the looks of you don't exactly have me a'trembling with fear. How's about I make you a deal?"

"Which is?"

"Which is that I don't slice you up and use you for zombie bait if you tell me what Timmy's big plan is."

Johnny said, "We told you- we ain't with Tim's gang. Darry Curtis is this guy's big brother."

"Buddy, I been watching you walk down out of Shepard turf for the last six blocks, and- I told you- I don't see his brother or anybody else but you two right now."

"Yeah, Brussler, you were so intent watching little boys walk down the street that you didn't see me coming, did you?"

I was so happy to hear Dally's voice behind the River King that I didn't even mind him calling us "little boys".

Brussler rolled his eyes and took a better grip on his blade.

"Dallas Winston," said without turning around. "I take it you have been following the little boys then?"

"You can take it however you like, man, just as long as you take your ass out of their way and out of my sight. Three against one, asshole. Those ain't good odds."

Brussler made a face. He folded his blade and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"I heard Shepard's little brother is dead," he said. "I heard he fell in the river. Tell Shepard that when you see him."

He turned and walked past Dally, bumping his shoulder and almost knocking him down. I could see that it took everything Dally had to keep from clobbering the guy. Dally, though, was more intent on Johnny and me.

"Six blocks," he sneered. "Six block and you already found _him_. The scenery ain't going to get any prettier the farther sound you go, you know."

I nodded.

Johnny asked, "So're you sticking with us, then, Dal?"

"Hell, no. From here on out you're on your own. I got some plans of my own to see to. I brought you a present though."

"Please let it be breakfast," I said.

"No, it ain't breakfast. How often do you eat anyway? Here," he said, and took something folded in a rag from his jacket pocket. He unfolded the fabric and held it out to Johnny.

"It's a gun. Glory, Dal, where'd you find it?"

"It's a flare gun, kid. And I ain't telling where I got it in case Bressler's still in close quarters. Like I said, I have my own plans…with Shepard…stuff we've been working on, and I got to get back at it, but if anything happens, you use that, okay? There's two flares. You get in trouble, fire the first one. Wait about an hour. If you're still alive, and we ain't found you yet, send up the second."

Johnny nodded at the gun.

"Take it easy, Dal," he said.

"Nothing easy about it," Dally replied. We didn't dare stand still long enough to watch him go.

We walked until almost four. I guessed it was about four by the sun on the horizon. I might have been off by a half-hour or so. In any case, the sun was sinking.

We'd run across a pack of Them, unstuck but moving slow, just south of the Route 66 overpass. We had strayed far enough east from the river that there was no running to it. We hid beneath the overpass and listened to them shuffle across.

"You reckon They can smell us?" I asked Johnny.

"I reckon They can hear alright. Shut your trap."

I shook my head. I was out of habit that we always whispered in Their presence. It was an assumption. All we knew for sure was that they noticed movement.

I seemed like it took them forever to reach the other side. There must have been a lot of them. Sometimes they stopped and looked around like they sensed us. Johnny and I sat still as mice. We knew They moved faster out in the open, away from the tall buildings.

Finally, the sound of their shuffling faded. Johnny pointed off to the south. I could see the bright green of the overgrown country club grounds. Even though I knew they were gone, the idea of moving across such a large open space with a pack of Them so close by gave me the willies. Still, I followed Johnny's lead. We crept out from under the bridge.

We hadn't made it 100 yards before we both heard the sound: the strange, heaving noise that They made. Like they were sucking in breath after being held under water- they called to one another like that.

Johnny cussed under his breath. I looked back over my shoulder.

"How many?" He asked me.

I couldn't even count them. Enough to make a football team, and they were coming down the embankment fast.

"Jesus, Johnny, just run!"

We took off towards the Country Club because we knew it had a fence. There were smaller buildings inside, and we knew there would be places to hide. We hoped there would be, anyway.

My heart caught in my chest when I saw movement from inside the Country Club gate. They were already inside. We were trapped.

Johnny saw it too, and we both skidded to a halt. We were both looking around wildly for any place to escape to when we heard the voice.

"What are you doing? Get in here!"

There was only one person- a girl our own age- behind the Country Club gate. She could speak, so she was still among the living. Johnny and I began to run towards her once more.

She scurried back and forth on the other side of the fence, motioning us away from the front gate.

"I can't open it!" She shouted. "It's stuck. Climb over, and hurry!"

Johnny and I hit the fence at the same time and then clung to it as it wobbled back and forth. The dark-haired girl took a few steps back. She had to no weapons, that I could see, to fend off what was coming behind us.

I made it to the top first and jumped over. I hit the ground and pain from the impact shot up my legs. Johnny landed beside me. He cursed as he turned his ankle.

"Keep moving," the girl ordered.

Johnny didn't seem inclined to do that. I hauled him up on his feet. He began to run, but with a limp. We followed the girl as fast as Johnny could manage.

There was a pool house across the parking lot. The door was open and the girl darted inside. We followed, and she shut the door.

"Two sets of fences," she explained, catching her breath. "If they make it over the main fence…well, you've seen that one. It's a little wobbly. It's more of a matter of when…when they do, there's still the pool fence keeping them out. I'm Marcia. Don't I know y'all?"

I recognized her. She was a cheerleader and a barrel racer way back when. Now she was living on her lonesome- it seemed- in an abandoned pool house.

"Yeah, we went to the same high school," I said.

She cringed. "How old are you?"

Johnny and I mumbled our ages, and Marcia looked noticeably less excited than she had when she had first hollered at us to jump over the fence.

In the uncomfortable silence, I became aware of a rhythmic pounding coming from outside. Marcia shivered.

"I hate when they do that. They just stand out there and pound on the gate."

"Better than them being inside the gate," Johnny said.

"You don't understand- they're out there because they want to come back in. I know them all, or who they used to be. They're club members."

She hopped up on the counter outside the shower room and sat.

"We need a place to stay for the night," I told her. "We're trying to make it to the bridge at Jenks."

Marcia looked up at me.

"At Jenks? That's where the Guard was posted? Is the guard coming in- finally?"

"We don't know," Johnny said. "We're not meeting them."

He and I exchanged glances. The same thoughts were running through our heads, I was sure: can we trust her, what if she demands to come along, should we leave her here when we go?

Marcia shrugged though and didn't ask us anything else.

"I have a little food," she said. "Berries. Obviously, I have water."

"Clean water?" Johnny asked.

She giggled at him and jumped down from her perch.

"Of course, silly. It's not from the pool. It's from the showers. You're welcome to go for a dip in the pool, too, but it's a little overgrown these days."

She was, she told us, the only one there. It was pure hell, she said, to be alone all the time. It was like some special kind of hell that she got to spend her days laying alone by the pool.

"Sometimes I think about just opening up the gate and walking out into the city," she said. "Do you think it hurts, you know, when they bite you? I mean, or do you just lose feeling right away? I'd guess it hurts, but what does it matter? It won't hurt for long, right?"

I ducked my head and tried to catch Johnny's eye. Marcia was making for some spooky company.

"Oh well," she said brightly, and shook it off. "I promised berries, right? I picked them around the edges of the fence. I've been eating them, and I'm not dead."

"Maybe just hallucinating," Johnny muttered to me, but we followed her towards the food anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

If you read Chapter Four and felt like there was something missing- there was. I cut-and-pasted a section out by mistake. That's fixed now. You might want to give it a second look.

**Hell is Other People**

Five-

I woke up just as the sun was coming up. For a second, I didn't know where I was. The room around me was dark and smelled musty. A thin finger of sunlight came from under the door. My eyes adjusted and I saw Johnny sleeping in a lump next to me. Marcia was asleep on top of the counter. I wondered if she always slept up there in plain view of anything that might bust through the door.

Hallucinogenic berries or no, Marcia was sort of a dingy broad. She seemed to have it good locked away in the pool house, and sometimes she seemed to get that. Then she'd be talking and she'd get this look in her eyes, and she's start yammering on about what it would be like to be eaten alive. She had both Johnny and me a little spooked.

When I shifted my weight, Marcia stirred. I couldn't blame her for being a light sleeper. Rather than face me, she rolled on to her back and looked up at the ceiling. She sighed.

"Here we go again," she said.

"What's on for today?" I asked her.

"That's just it- nothing. Same thing. I can be locked up in a cage or spend my life on the run."

"So run. We could come back for you, once we find our friend. We could bring you up to our neighborhood. There's a whole bunch of us left. You wouldn't have to be lonely."

It dawned on me, as I said it, that I had no way of knowing if that was still true. Anything could have happened to my brothers and my buddies.

Still, I told Marcia again, "We'll come back for you. You can come back with us."

"Sure," she said, finally grinning. "And I can do the cooking and cleaning for a pack of North side boys, right?"

"And laundry," I told her. "Don't forget that."

She turned her head and grinned at me.

"I never did my own laundry before in my life. You might not be getting much out of that deal."

"You can't stay here alone. When winter comes, you'll run out of food."

She nodded.

"How long will it take you to get to Jenks?"

I told her I guessed the rest of today, and then another to get back.

"Gonna be the longest two days of my life," she said and turned her head back to the ceiling. I think she was smiling, though.

* * *

Crossing the Country Club golf course seemed to take forever- with its manufactured, low hills and shocks of trees. Marcia accompanied us to the eleventh hole and sat down in a sand trap to watch as we climbed the fence out on to Lewis Avenue.

The brand new Oral Roberts University had been mostly looted for construction materials. The structure that had been widely advertised as a piece of art called the Prayer Tower stood glittering in the sun.

"What the hell is that?" Johnny asked.

"It's the Prayer Tower, or it was. It's kind of pretty, ain't it?"

He shrugged.

"It's sure glittery. I thought we weren't supposed to be praying to false idols and such."

"I don't think you pray _to_ it. I think it's supposed to remind you to pray."

"Sure is big enough. Lot of good prayin' did them, anyways."

After that, we walked in silence. There was a time when I went to church, and I have to say that I still miss it. Maybe it was just easier to believe when there was more goodness around to be seen.

South of Oral Roberts, Lewis Avenue joined the Parkway. We could see Jenks across the river, and hear the now-unfamiliar sounds of a city that was still alive and bustling.

A single-lane truss bridge once connected Tulsa to Jenks. In the spring, the river almost always floods and comes up almost to the bottom of the bridge. I used to hate crossing that bridge when I was kid. I wish I could go back to those days now.

The Army Reserves blew a hole in the bridge to prevent anything living or half-dead from coming across. In the late summer, the river gets low. It was low now, and I could see patches of muddy sand bar going across. I guessed that's how Curly got across, but how he did it without being seen and getting shot was beyond me. It had to be slow going because there wasn't any taking it as the crow flies. He'd have to jump from sand bar to sand bar, and there was always the chance of getting stuck in the mud.

Johnny stood next to me, looking across the river. He must have been thinking the same thing.

"How'd you think he did it?" He asked. "They let a little water out of the Keystone every now and then to keep it wet so They won't try to cross it. It's nothing but soup down there."

I shook my head and looked to the bridge. It was possible to cross the bridge by climbing across the trusses on top, or along the bottom close to the water. Two-Bit had done it, he'd said. He'd had a few beers in him and someone dared him to do it. It scared them so bad watching him climb up there like a monkey that'd they'd driven across and met him on the other side with more beer. I don't like heights myself, and didn't like to think of trying it drunk or sober.

Now, there was a huge, jagged gap about two-thirds of the way across the bridge. I tried to imagine maybe swinging a rope across. It was a huge hole, and Curly was not the careful sort. I couldn't see him doing it.

"How do we know?" Johnny said, and I knew what he meant.

All the way across town, chased by the living dead, and this was the first time since the warehouse that we'd really questioned it.

Johnny continued: "How do we know he made it over, or that's he's coming back? How does Tim know? How do we know we can trust Tim?"

"Because they're greasers, and so are we," I said, but it was a weak line of logic and I knew it. Being greasers meant something eight months ago when there were Socs. Now, with no money and no laws, we were all the same people just out to survive. Everything revolved around survival, though, and I couldn't think of what Tim would get out of Johnny and me getting ourselves killed for nothing.

"It don't make sense. He wouldn't just send us out here."

"I guess not," Johnny said. "What are we looking for now? Do we just sit here and wait for Curly to show up, or what?"

Tim hadn't been real clear on that. What was becoming clear to me was that the remains of the bridge was probably the least likely place for him to come back across. On the other side, standing in the road, I could see two armed National Guardsmen. They saw us too. One pointed at us, and the other one waved.

The river was too wide to shout across, but we could venture out on the bridge a good piece, if we dared.

"How far do you think we can go before we're in shooting range?" I asked Johnny.

"I don't know. There could be snipers that we can't see."

"Then we'd already be dead. You wanna try it?"

He shrugged and we stepped out on to the bridge. On their side, the Guardsmen stopped talking and stood facing us. One of them had picked up his rifle, but made no move to aim it. They let us get almost to the center of the bridge before they raised their guns.

"Hey, Tulsa," One of them shouted. "You alive over there?"

"What's it look like?" Johnny shouted back.

"How many are left?"

"Us or Them?" I asked him. "I'd guess we're about even with them. You hear any stories? Any hope of getting some help?"

One of them chuckled. "What? Like an airlift?"

"Like Berlin," Johnny said. "Yeah."

"Good luck, kid. You're no longer the voting block you once were. It's a whole new economy out here now."

Crap, I thought. I said it out loud.

Johnny frowned at me in confusion.

"The oil wells," I said. "The Soc families that owned all the oil are gone. Someone else…the government or other companies took 'em over. If the oil families never get saved, it's alright by these guys."

"And we're just part of the deal?"

"Collaterol damage," I said. "Like we never existed."

"That's a pretty intense discussion you're having over there, Tulsa," one of the guardsmen called out. "Want to speak up a little so we know you're not plotting anything daring and stupid?"

"No, thanks, man," Johnny said. "We were just saying it was time for us to go back the way we came."

"Good idea. Nice seeing you, Tulsa."

"Kiss my ass," Johnny mumbled. We raised our fingers to the soldiers and started walking back towards the bank.

We stepped back on to dry land, and just as we did, a loud and rhythmic clapping sound started up in the trees. Johnny and I both froze. He reached for his blade and cussed under his breath.

The clapping sound continued and a few twigs snapped. Curly Shepard stepped to the edge of the trees, just out of the sight of the Guards on the other side. He was, indeed, clapping.

"Shepard, you son of a bitch!" I whispered.

"Speak for yourself…oh, sorry, Pony…I didn't mean…about your mom and all…but that was good, guys. Really good."

"What was good?" Johnny asked.

"Your diversion. The whole time you was talking to them, I was coming across down below."

I peered around him looking what I didn't even know what- a box, a duffle bag, something he should've been carrying.

"So where is it?" I asked.

"Good to see you, too, fucker. Where's what?"

"The bomb or whatever's going to kill all of Them?"

"There ain't no bomb," Curly said. He tapped the side of his head with his finger. "It's all up here."

"Oh, shit," Johnny mumbled.

"And you're some kind of genius, ain't you, Cade? They explained it to me…well, I overheard it, really. There ain't no bomb. We don't need one. I heard them say how we could call them all together."

Johnny and I both waited. Curly grinned and jerked his head back towards the city.

"Come on. I'll tell y'all, but let's get moving. All these trees and grass and shit…I can't wait to get back downtown. Especially after what I heard those Army guys say."


End file.
